I have spent the last hour looking for my poetry book … my little book in which I scribe all my thoughts, my poems, my most private wonders. It was placed next to me last night while I typed ‘A New Star Is Born’ … after that, I have no idea. I can’t remember. Logic says, of course, that it’s here somewhere! I know I didn’t take it out, so it’s got to be around … it will turn up tomorrow surely.

Except that tomorrow isn’t good enough. Like Verruca Salt (surely the most brilliantly named fictitious character of all time), I want it NOW!! I even had a little cry … a release of desperation since I’ve looked everywhere it could be to no avail. How amazing really that such an innocent-looking, inanimate object can evoke such emotion at the fact that it’s missing.

So tonight, no poem … I mean, yes, obviously I could scribble something out on a loose piece of paper, but it wouldn’t be the same, and anyway my mind is now solely consumed by the knowledge that I am lacking the knowledge of knowing where my book is!!! *sigh* Hopefully tomorrow I will write something about the gratitude of finding something so precious …